


soulbound

by TheQueenInTheNorth



Series: soulmates [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenInTheNorth/pseuds/TheQueenInTheNorth
Summary: Voldemort doesn't believe in soulmates. Neither does Bellatrix. That fits quite well.





	soulbound

“What’s that on your arm?“Tom wants to know, eyeing Dumbledore suspiciously. The old man pulled his sleeve down again so quickly he hadn’t been able to make it out for certain. It had looked like the word _coward_ , but why would anyone get that tattooed on themselves?

Dumbledore rubs the spot as if it causes him pain.”Never you mind, dear boy, never you mind.“

 

* * *

 

He learns about the soulmate marks at Hogwarts, from whispers and stories, from girls giggling about the outlandish ones, from Slughorn boasting how he’d introduced people who then found words on their skin.

What your soulmate thinks of you will appear on your skin. Dumbledore sinks in his regard; he had been anyway, now that he’s no longer the only wizard he knows, now that other teachers praise him and dote on his work the way they do.

His skin is empty, but so is that of most of his classmates. Few people meet their soulmates, and even fewer at such a young age.

(Prefect Fawley has _pretty_ on the side of her neck, and _stuck-up_ on the back of one hand. She jokes that that could be anyone’s thoughts, and no one brings up the hurt look in the eyes of the Ravenclaw seeker who has _Mudblood_ emblazoned on his arm.)

 

* * *

 

As the years pass, more of his classmates get their words. The purer their blood, the more unlikely it is for them to act upon these marks.

He thinks that’s good sense, really. Why settle for some disgustingly sentimental notion of a soulmate when your family can find you a match much more advantageous?

Some, of course, get a soulmate that’s suitable enough, and they are betrothed as soon as their parents realise their words correspond.

That’s how, in his seventh year, two eleven year olds arrive, already engaged to be married. Walburga and Orion Black. Cousins, which is a little too close for comfort even for purebloods most days, but there’s an exception made for soulmates.

He thinks the whole thing even more ridiculous as he sees them, Walburga with _mean_ written across her cheek, Orion’s forehead proclaiming _butthead_ to the whole world.

Being soulmates doesn’t garantuee that you get along.

 

* * *

 

He’s at one of Roderick Lestrange’s parties, feigning interest in the man’s laments about how his wife took his heir to see the newborn Black girl and neither child got even a letter on their skin.

“Perhaps they’re too young to think anything of one another,“he offers. Not that he sees why it should matter. Unless either of the children happen across an appropriate soulmate, their betrothal has already been decided.

“Perhaps,“Roderick says, rubbing absently at his wrist. Voldemort knows he has the word _useful_ , there, and never found out who it came from.

How bothersome it must be to have words appear and try to define you.

 

* * *

 

“Your eyes are red.“ The little girl stops so close to him she has to crane her neck to get a good look at him. He gives her as polite a smile as he can manage.”I know they are.“

She’s the child of some rich, influential, pureblooded person, or else she would not be at this function. Best to not send her off crying. Children are so easily upset.

She wrinkles her nose, apparently not satisfied with that answer.”That’s weird. Eyes shouldn’t be red.“

“Well, they are.” He looks around in hopes of someone coming to retrieve the child, then back at the girl. He only now notices the letters crawling up her arm. _Nuisance_. Whoever her soulmate is, he is inclined to agree with them.

Finally, Druella Black arrives to usher the girl away. Little Bellatrix, then. He briefly wonders if Rodolphus has enough sense to recognise her as the vexation she is or if Roderick has been disappointed in his hopes.

He goes to socialise, which is what he came to do, afterall. Sound out who might support him and how far they would be willing to go.

(When he steps out of the shower that night, his heart almost stops at the sight of the letters on his chest. _Vampire_. He can’t help but chuckle, even as he wonders who was the drunkest of the people he newly met today. Because surely this nonsense must have been fueled by firewhiskey.)

 

* * *

 

The word stays there for years, though it grows fainter and fainter. He does his research, curiosity piqued, and it seems the longer ago the thought was, the more the mark will disappear, until either another thought replaces it or your soulmate forgets about meeting you.

He’s just glad he didn’t have the misfortune of getting the mark on his face or hands. The whole thing is ridiculous enough without anyone else seeing it.

 

* * *

 

The next mark appears when the first is barely even a shadow anymore. It’s on his lower back, this time, and he’s not sure how long it’s been there when he finally notices it. _Visionary_. He likes this one better.

He considers trying to find out who it is, but gives up the notion right away. He meets many and more people every day. And it isn’t even said he saw his so-called soulmate lately. Maybe they just thought about him. He is making quite a name for himself, afterall.

 

* * *

 

The words come more frequently. _Brilliant, shrewd, stern_.

He soon narrows the circle of suspects down to a handful of people, most of them in his inner circle. _  
_

_Great teacher_ narrows it down to even less, the youngest of the crew, the ones he still advises on the Unforgivables. Not that he thinks he’s a particularly benevolent teacher. That definietly takes Barty out of the running; he made the lad cry with his criticism, for Merlin’s sake.

Not that it truly matters who it is. He’s just a little intrigued, is all.

 

* * *

 

The marks praising his mind stay there. But more and more the new ones revolve around want, around need.

It’s not until Bella’s breath hitches in her throat as he grasps her wrist to correct her wand movement that he truly allows himself to entertain the idea that it may be her.

She’s young, beautiful, rich, pureblooded, and so is her husband. There’s no reason she should think of him the way the words crawling across his skin suggest.

He orders everyone else out of the room anyway.

 

* * *

 

“May I?“he says, but he’s already taken a hold of her arm, pushing up her sleeve and staring at all the words marking her skin. Then he moves on to her other arm.

The words are all true. Yet that means nothing. Anyone can see her beauty, anyone who knows her can see the ferocity contained inside. He needs confirmation. A mark only he could have put on her.

Her eyes are wide, her mouth opened ever so slightly, her breathing faster than usual.

There’s a hint of writing on her collar bone, almost completely hidden by the fabric of her dress. He brings his hand up to her neck line, trails a finger along where it meets her skin, tugging it aside just a little. A glimps of letters, but not enough. He hesitates but Bellatrix doesn’t, brushing the fabric down over her shoulder, an almost challenging glint in her eyes. She’s so close now he has to step back slightly to get a good look at the mark.

 _Unattainable_. The word slowly fades as he runs a finger across it, barely touching. He doesn’t think so anymore.

 

* * *

 

By the time they are finished, her skin is newly decorated in more ways than one. She barely seems to register the lovebites down her neck and chest, nor the bruises his fingers left on her hips, entirely enthralled by the word that’s taken the place of  _unattainable._

She smiles up at him as she caresses the skin, pulling him to her for a kiss.

“Yours,“she agrees.


End file.
